


Sleepy

by i_can_do_fics



Category: Wandersong (Video Game)
Genre: Character Transformation, Mind Manipulation, TF, Transformation, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:15:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27694022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_can_do_fics/pseuds/i_can_do_fics
Summary: Trying to sleep, Sam changes into something a bit more comfortable.
Kudos: 5





	Sleepy

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to formally apologize to everyone who came here because of my last fic thinking I'd be writing more things similar to that (to clarify: that being something normal). that one was more the odd one out, actually.

Sam woke up slowly, at first, wrinkling his face when a few things came to bother him at the forefront of his mind, when he’d just woken up.

The first being how silent it was.

Sam had been napping beneath a tree atop a hill nearby where he lived, something he did quite often since he moved here. The shade kept the sun out of his eyes, the grass soft and inviting and didn’t irritate his skin like the grass back at his old home did, and even though the surrounding forest was alive and full of birds and other small animals, this hill-clearing never seemed to have any noise louder than the wind gently rustling the trees.

But now Sam couldn’t hear anything at all. And speaking of, there was no cushion of grass beneath him, nor could he feel the gentle incline of the hill, instead lying flat on the hard, smooth ground.

He opened his eyes, finally, to see the tree above him, its leaves yellow as if fall had come early this year.

Or, his mind supplied him, he didn’t know for how long he was asleep, so he might as well have just slept for months, and it was well into fall by then.

As absurd as it sounded, it spooked him awake enough to get him to sit up.

It was empty. The place, Sam had no idea, just a flat ground and sky stretching for forever, colored a pink fading to maroon to dark. He couldn’t even tell where the ground ended, or the sky ended either.

Sam scooted back instinctively, and hit the tree again, startling himself. He swung his head back to look up at it and realized, a bit stupidly for not seeing it before, that the bark was pink. More vibrant, but undeniably in the same vein as his surroundings as he looked back and forth.

Observing the normal tree turned otherworldly, his mind finally decided to entertain the notion that this might be a dream.

But it didn't have the cadence, or the atmosphere so electric with an emotion that it presses down on him, the way dreams are supposed to… but then again, when did dreams ever follow rules?

Something caught Sam’s eye, in the middle distance. It looked to be a structure of some kind, but for the life of him he just could not put together what it was supposed to be. It stood out, the only thing in this empty vastness other than the tree Sam was leaning on.

Sam wasn’t sure when he decided to get up and head towards it, but well, he’s walking now, he realized.

The weirdest thing he noticed was that the building never really came into focus as he drew closer- Sam couldn’t pick out any details when he looked at it, not even what it was made of… Marble? Drywall? Chalk?  
Strangely, it reminded him of how he always turned down the graphics on video games he’d play so they could run more smoothly on his garbage computer. Except in this case, it was to barely stop the whole thing from crumbling into dust. The building honestly looked ready to collapse at any given moment, splitting at the seams and desperately trying to keep its crumbs from falling and showing any sign of weakness.

Sam reached the door and walked into this clearly structurally unsound building, despite his better judgment. He distractedly wondered if this meant it probably was a dream after all, with a small smile. He’s usually much more sensible than this.

The room inside seemed to have the same poorly rendered feel as the building did outside, but the shapes here were distinct enough to put a name to. Looking around, Sam realized with a start that this was a throne room, that large chair at the end of the room was supposed to be a throne, and that also meant this building was supposed to be… a castle? Sam’s head spun a little, wanting to go back outside to try looking again for any resemblance, but didn’t want to test the door further, so he decided against it.

Sam’s gaze finally rested on the throne, and suddenly his whole body ached, feeling the exhaustion from walking for who knows how long to this castle, all in an instant. His eyes felt heavy, his whole body felt heavy, he was so tired, and he knew the throne was _so_ comfortable, he’d feel so much better if he sat down and took a rest for a minute.

He tried to hurry towards it faster, but his movements just felt more sluggish, his body growing and his stomach roiling in anticipation for something he didn’t realize himself was coming.  
Sam slowed down as he finally reached the throne, and in a reverence he didn’t quite understand, he paused for a moment. That was all it needed for his legs to thicken and his tummy to swell up, before he laid a large hand on an armrest and wrestled himself into the seat, heaving a gusty sigh.

The effect was immediate- he sank into the throne’s cushions and felt the relief seep into his tired, aching muscles, as the more drastic changes kicked in. His feet squished in shape and grew back into paws with soft, velvety pink pads, and white fur everywhere else, wiggling and stretching his toes around instinctively.

He was about to think something, but he couldn’t get it out of his mind about how uncomfortable his shoes felt on his feet when everything else felt perfect.

He reached down to take them off- but then he remembered he hadn’t been wearing any. So he just dropped it and closed his eyes again, relaxing.

He felt a tickle as a blanket of soft, white fur swept up his legs beneath his pants, over his pillow of a belly, and down his arms to his hands, which shifted into something paw-like as his fingers grew thick and stubby. His nails sharpened to points and claws but he sheathed them. He never really ever had to use them, and he might tear his throne if they were out, so better put them away anyway.  
The fur crept up the back of his neck and then head first, swallowing up his already short hair as they touched. His ears sensed the fur and changed appropriately, folding into fat triangles and shifting up from the sides of his head towards the top.

He gave no indication if he noticed the deliciously soft fur finished crawling over his face; other than a small grunt he let out involuntarily, as his face pushed out into a rather flat-faced muzzle. His nose turned small and pink at his muzzle’s tip, and a few long whiskers splayed out beneath it.

His eyebrows grew thick and his eyes grew heavier and heavier, and tired lines etched themselves into his face- the marks near permanent, with how much and how often he sleeps.

The Dream King feels the weight of a small, gold crown rest atop his head. He reaches up instinctively to touch it, but then the memory of **the crown stays ON** thunders through his head, and he startledly drops his arm when he remembers, and he remembers, and remembers, and remembers…

The Dream King closes his eyes, and lets out a long, deep sigh he hadn’t known he’d been holding until now, as he feels himself attuning to the world and the people and the harmony of Eya’s song. He feels pieces settle into place, as if the whole world had been somehow wrong all along and he’d never noticed only because now it feels so _right._ Something wells up in his throat and his vocal chords expand and change in ways no mortal could possibly conceive. He lets out a warbly cry, the strange symbols beyond human understanding he speaks in becoming familiar and fluent as it settles in his throat. Dreams begin to well up from deep inside him- the dreams that stay with people and fuel their every action, the dreams that connect the people who share them, the quick, fleeting ones and strange ones alike; they ring inside him, he can feel, like a bell quietly joyous that it can be heard once more.

With the Dream King sitting atop his throne, the castle around him almost seems to breathe a sigh of relief alongside him, as it all returns into focus and stability, settling back into place as its anchor returns. Through the castle windows, the world outside the castle changes, as a thick colored fog rolls in to blanket mountains and hills while plants and vines and trees grow and grow and grow. And all across the vibrant pink sky, stars begin to fall gently, streaking yellow throughout the view.

The Dream King starts shifting uncomfortably all of a sudden, as his spine wants to grow and lengthen, but it’s trapped by his jeans already clinging tight to his thicker, heavier legs. A tail wants to grow, he knows, and his pants strained in protest and threatened to burst-

But he wasn’t wearing pants. He never needed to before and he was **not** going to start now, he affirmed to himself as his long, white tail rolled out down and drooped lazily on the floor, twitching every so often. His jacket was enough, a rich, silky red and lined with white fluffy lining; it was _so_ so comfortable and was really the only regalia he’d ever been willing to wear for this job.

The Dream King groaned and rubbed his face with a paw. Why’d he have to remind himself of his _job_ , he was having a nice time relaxing.

Not that relaxing wasn’t a significant part of it. As the Overseer of Dreams, he had plenty of responsibilities to stress over- like his, uh, eventual yet inevitable death- but most of which he could just sleep through and his dreams would take care of them. No real rules to follow, other than the ones he had to set for himself. He was really lucky that if he had to be chosen as someone’s squire, it was the old Dream Overseer, rather than someone else who’d saddle him with far more responsibilities.

The Dream King paused for a moment. The last Overseer had no squire.

It sounded wrong. The Dream King remembered _being_ their squire, but he focused on what he knew, and- no, it was true. The previous Dream Overseer had never taken or trained any squire. But then, he pondered a bit uselessly, how did _he_ get here?

The Dream King sat up in his throne. No squire meant that no one had been passed on to succeed the old Overseer, and that probably meant Eya _herself_ had to intervene. Which…

His face scrunched up and he slouched back down. Jeez, that’s embarrassing. Only a little though, since he didn’t _really_ care that much, but still.

On a hunch, the Dream King peeked down into the physical world. The little town of Langtree was located almost directly below the Dreamscape, so if there _was_ anyone that would have… yep, there’s an empty house where someone definitely used to live, just on the outskirts of town.

And the Dream King had just gone and _replaced_ the poor sucker! What a shame.

He leaned back in his throne, which now looked as extraordinarily comfortable as it felt, and mulled it over. This meant he actually had to _**do**_ a few things, something the Dream King was _not_ looking forward to.

First of all, he’d have to appoint a squire of his own sooner or later. If he didn’t, Eya would probably just do the same thing to whoever the next Dream Overseer would be, which. The Dream King honestly didn’t really care that it happened to him, but his successor might, so it’d just be considerate to be proactive and save them the embarrassment.

Second, he’d have to go introduce himself to the other Overseers. Or reintroduce…? No, even though he remembered who they are, wouldn’t mean they would know who he is. Better to check in anyway, meet his coworkers again for the first time.

Lastly, he’d have to do something about Sam.

The Dream King groaned and rubbed his face with a soft paw. This was the one he was the _least_ looking forward to doing. What was he even supposed to do here? Even though his house was on the outskirts, Langtree was a small town, so Sam’s absence would undoubtedly be noticed.

The Dream King shifted to a different position on his throne and considered his options.

Well… he could try to convince them that everything they knew about Sam had been a dream all along, or something. He could send someone in town a message telling them the Overseer needed him for something, so it’s fine and not to worry about it. Or, he could just wait until it all blows over and hope they’d think Sam had just moved away.  
The first two felt like too much effort, but there was a pluck inside the Dream King that made him feel like he had some responsibility for Sam, like he wanted to make up for the fact that he vanished so the Dream King could... _exist,_ he guessed?  
He could do more to make it look like he had just moved out, but that’d mean doing something about all of Sam’s stuff left in his house and _urghhhh._ He dragged his paw down his face. He _really_ didn’t want to deal with this right now.

His eyes drifted downwards back to his throne. Soft, velvety cushions lining every surface, he could assume any sleeping position imaginable and still sleep cozily, by design. It was pretty large, he noted, a too-big throne for anyone to really fit in it. But then again, he’d always been a fat cat, he mused to himself (ignoring that it wasn’t actually true, because he didn’t really care).

What he _wanted_ to do…

Smiling to himself, he gave one last hearty stretch and draped himself over his throne.

Surely, whichever he was going first to do could wait for a little while, the Dream King decided, as he dozed off.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any suggestions on what I should tag fics like these so you can find it easier, please let me know in the comments!


End file.
